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About Literature / Hobbyist Premium Member COKE-ZER0Male/United States Recent Activity
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A Big Thank You! To Everyone!

You guys are the best! Thanks for reading my stories, commenting on them, favoriting them, and telling me I describe stuff well haha!

Now, shoutouts to my best buds on this site. We've really had some good times and laughs over the months! I apologize for being a crazy person!

:iconaerial-rave: :iconslash-pseudo: :iconmrcandyman007: :icondarkfox223: :iconevilyoda2: :iconbrokenbrow: :iconthiel-kun: :iconnemesiszeru: :icontherealfake: :iconborin23: :icondreambuilding: :iconyahtzey: :iconnewportzman61: :iconrippleinapond: :iconscarletspiderkid: :iconemma-hime:

Finally, a shoutout to an amazing artist. MorningPanda draws incredible fat women (and other things for that matter), his prices are a huge deal, and he works at lightning speed. Please visit him!



Oct 31, 2014
8:43 pm
Oct 31, 2014
8:30 pm
Oct 31, 2014
8:18 pm
Oct 31, 2014
8:11 pm
Oct 31, 2014
7:59 pm


A Few of My Many OC's!

This is Death, the hero of my "It Makes You Fat Series." This drawing (and the others) were created by the amazing :iconmorningpanda:.
In short, Death is a pacifist-minded dude with very dorky interests such as robot mechas and board games.

Kunai Huckleberry's male form is on the left, his female form is on the right after drinking a potion.

Professor Narcissus, my fat Roserade OC. Narcy eats too many pokepuffs as you can see. The pokétrap is also a very moody person. But he's not as cranky after a morning cup of coffee.


COKE-ZER0's Profile Picture

Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
Yeah, I like fat girls and Pikachu...mother clucker

Welcome to my page! Looking for WG stories? Check the Gallery. It's very organized for easy browsing!

UPDATE: Very old/incomplete things can be found in Scraps. However, a few niche works are in there as well.

I'm the insane writer in the bunch when it comes to Weight Gain. Many of my stories are in the fantasy/sci-fi genre and have fattening elements. My works are usually far from realistic because they involve things such as aliens, demons, midget grim reapers, dragons, magic, superheroes, pirates, ninjas, catgirls, traps, zombies, elfs, wizards, space marines, cyborgs, etc.

Unlike many of the Weight Gain stories you'll find on devArt, mine are usually plot focused and contain fanservice. Basically, they're written like an action anime with a heavy dose of ecchi content.

The Facts:
Commission Policy!
Story Price: $12
Schedule: Note me so I can put aside a date to write your story.
Money is due after the commission is completed.

The word "Good" is pretty subjective, especially when it comes to writing. So I kept a poll on my page for about a year asking random deviants (those who were into the Weight Gain Fetish) what they thought of my work.
I'll skip the statistics math and tell you that I average an 85% (85.91 to be exact). So if I drew fat girls instead of writing about them, on average, I'd produce drawings that most would consider...

Anyway, below are a sample of my works. You should take a look and see if you like my style or not. I'm sorry if I sound arrogant or anything, but I want you to know upfront what you're probably go

:iconrequestfriendsonly: :icongiftsfriendsonly: :iconcommissionsask: :icontradesask: :iconnopointcommissions:


Honestly, I never thought I'd get this far, especially as the weirdest writer in the WG realm haha.
If anything, I guess this goes to show that you can have a male protagonist for 97% of your Female Weight Gain stories and get somewhere.
Do you know what a fat, anthro Mega Beedrill looks like? Well they're Huge and Squishy. Know why? 'Cause I got Lionalliance draw one. You'll get to see soon!
5 deviants said Huge & Squishy? I will Pursuit it. OwO That Mega Beedrill won't be U-Turning from me.
2 deviants said *Pokes giant belly* can't sting me? LOL! *Poke*
1 deviant said Feed it Teddy Grahams. Its favorite food.
No deviants said *Body Slams Tummy* *Bounces off* (Repeat x100)
Mature Content Filter is On
(Contains: sexual themes, violence/gore, strong language and ideologically sensitive material)

Tòxicana the Beedrill grunts, and then puts his hands on his hips. “So like chica, lemme tell you ‘bout this loco who keep trying to photograph me.” The mega pokémon upturns his chin, and folds his arms in a huff. “Christopher es muy molesto. So freakin’ annoying, girlfriend. Like I tell the kid my ass is too fat for the camera and he’s like ‘Your butt doesn’t look fat, Tòxicana’ and of course I’m like—”

Tòxicana then turns around, revealing his colossal abdomen. It’s far pudgier than most, signifying he was well-fed by his trainer. “Chico estúpido do you not see the damn tank I’m draggin’ back here!?? Like really, how the hell are you gonna say my ass isn’t fat? You’re such a fucking liar.”

While Tòxicana rants in Spanish, the chansey in front of him frowns a bit. The pink blob adjusts her nurse hat while staring at his rear. “I think you’re being a bit eccentric, Tòxicana.” She replies. “I’m assuming all Mr. Christopher wants to do is take a nice picture of you as Mega Beedrill.”

The luxury suite of the Pokémon Center has blue walls and a posh carpet. There’s a queen-sized bed in the middle of the room, and it faced towards a television set.

Tòxicana looks over his shoulder and scowls at his friend. “I know what the loco wants to do, Penny.” He says. “But I’m a pet, comprende? I don’t get sweaty, I don’t do battles, and I don’t take pictures while hauling around a butt with base 150 attack.” The queen bee faces forward. Tòxicana folds his arms and huffs again. “Yo no hago eso.”

Beside him was a dining cart—the type seen in fancy restaurants—and atop it was a massive jar of honey. Thick, gooey liquid, drizzled from the lid, and it was nauseating how rich the fluid appeared. Only a glutton could stomach such a treat—knowing full well it wasn’t bought by a wealthy person.

“You’re acting a bit too spoiled, dear.” Penny says, pointing at the honeypot. “Mr. Christopher dotes on you like no other pokémon I’ve ever seen. The least you could do is let him take one photograph.” Penny then gestures at the bed reserved for Tòxicana. “You know this would mean the world to him.”

Tòxicana sighs, cheeks blushing red. The bee looks over his shoulder and at his bulbous rear. His abdomen was like a yellow exercise ball with dark stripes and a stinger. Fat storage was the cause of its sluggish, doughy appearance, and purple gunk dripped from Tòxicana’s needle.

“But chica look at me.” Tòxicana says, sighing as he smacks his drill against his forehead. “I’m so huge and I can’t even walk without the jiggle.He then jabs the meat of his wasp abdomen.If I could lose 30 pounds I’d be totally happy, chica honey. Like muy feliz. OK? I just wanna look good in that picture…The Estúpido deserves it.”

Penny smiles. “You shouldn’t be so self-conscious about your body, dear.” The chansey then clasps her hands together. “I’m sure Mr. Christopher just wants you in his album of insects. You’re his chubby little bugaboo after all.”
Tòxicana then growls at her, his left eye twitching. “Chica, what the hell was that for!!???.”

Penny then smirks. “But Tòxicana, I thought you loved being babied?“

“BY THE GUY I LIKE.”  The bee says, glaring at the nurse. “We ain’t going over this again, Penny.  I don’t want anyone but Chico Estúpido calling me that crap. Now look at me, girl. We both know those names are muy embarasoso. Like totally.”

Penny nods. “Ok, I’ll never call you a ‘Hungry Honeypot’ or  ‘Chubby Little Bugaboo’ again.”

“STOP IT CHICA!!!” Tòxicana yells, clamping his eyelids shut. The bee shivers like mad while hugging his chest. “Qué D-Demonios!?? What the hell is wrong with you!???” 

“Oh la la, is that Monsieur Buttdrill and Madame Klutz? Très fantastique!”

Sashaying like a movie star into the bedroom is Nurse Charity—a mega gardevoir with a titanic bust. Charity had been EV trained in Special Attack, so no one had breasts as large as hers. The lass sported an hourglass figure that was a little too soft.

Charity giggles as she waves. “Oh bonsoir, how are the peasants doing?”

“Good evening, Charity.” Penny says, followed by a small smile.

Tòxicana grunts while putting his hands on his hips. “Que chingados?” He asks in a huff. “Like what the fuck do ya want, Grande Tits? I don’t wanna see you prance around in that slutty uniform.”

Charity laughs, causing her breasts to jiggle. “Mon chéri, I heard you fretting about your area of problème.” She says, placing a hand on her large rear. “I wanted to confirm that your derriere has plumped up like an éclair since the last time you and Master Christophe dropped by the center.” The gardevoir says, followed by a chuckle.

Charity then puts her hands on her hips. “In peasant terms Tòxicana, your backside is fat and piggish. You should be ashamed to even dream of posing for a photo. Master Christophe deserves a much better model.” The gardevoir then smirks, hauling up her large breasts.

Tòxicana scowls while folding his arms. His cheeks are flushed red from embarrassment. “Shut up, Bitch-Chica! I ain’t the only pig around here! Ever take a look in the espejo? Your reflection probably oinks doesn’t it?”

Penny frowns. “Tòxicana what are you saying? You’re not a pig and neither is she.”

“How dare you call me a swine, you filthy peasant!” Charity snaps, jabbing her finger at Tòxicana’s chest. “You’re the parasite with a barrel of lard for a—”

“Did you just call me a parasite?” Tòxicana says , jabbing his drill at Charity bosom.

“Vous êtes gigatesque!” She snaps. “You’ve grown as round and fat as a Queen! You can hardly walk yet Monsieur Christophe is thinner!”

“Cállate Bitch-Chica! SHUT UP!”

An emergency siren blares through the bedroom where the three pokémon were. Charity freezes like a statue, and her pupils become bloodshot with horror. That wasn’t the fire alarm, it was the other one. Penny then dashes out of the room to call the police.


Christopher sprints down the hallway of the Pokémon Center towards Room 5-A—a vault where monsters rested inside their pokéballs.

“Come back, here! Those Pokémon don’t belong to you!” The gym leader shouts. Christopher is a blond man about 30 years of age. He’s dressed in a camo jacket with jeans and combat boots. “Damn it kid, I said stop!”  He says, picking up the pace.

Running ahead of him is a grunt of Team Rocket dressed in an all-black uniform. The teen reaches into his pocket and pulls out dark pokéball. “Alright Greninja, take care of this.” The redhead throws the sphere over his shoulder.

In midair, the ball erupts in a flash of light. Greninja then appears and lands on the tiled floors like a shinobi warrior. The human thief whips around. “Dark Pulse!” He says, jabbing his finger forward.

Greninja performs a hand sign. He fires a wave of black energy throughout the hall. Christopher charges into the attack but is knocked to the ground. The man gets back up, and keeps sprinting towards the frog. His pokémon were still recovering in 7-D, and were in no condition to battle.

“Is that the best you got?” Chris yells. “Come on!”

He bucks his shoulder like a football player and rams into another Dark Pulse. Chris roars while tanking through the hit. It felt as if he were slamming into a wall of concrete.

The thief then points at the gym leader and laughs. “Don’t tell me you’re without a pokémon, Poison Man. You’re the only thing threatening this mega heist!”

Chris cracks his knuckles and smirks, there’s blood running down his forehead. “Don’t need one.  I can do this all day, bud.”

“You can’t fight a damn pokémon, Dempsey.”  The rocket thief grunts. “Now scram you old man!”

Chris shakes his head left and right. “Kid, the only way you can rob this room without abandoning the Greninja is by knocking me out.” The trainer then chuckles while raising his fist. “But that ain’t gonna happen ya see. I can’t protect any other vaults from the Rocket gang, but this one won’t be looted unless I’m dead.

“They got great security on the A-level.” Christopher thought. “I’m sure Tòxicana is safe.”

Back at the luxury suite…

“Rich and thick, sweet as well. Honey of this quality only comes from a beedrill that eats too much and moves too little.” Laurence says, followed by a sip of tea from his cup.  The man has a head of shaggy grey hair, and he’s dressed in a dark blazer with matching pants. The Rocket Executive also has a red “R” embedded on his jacket.

“And the milk from this Gardevoir…” Laurence adds, smiling as he taps the rim of the tea cup. “Well it brings me back to the summers of my youth. Each morning at the crack of dawn I’d leave Grandpa Ben’s farmhouse and milk his cow named Faithful.” Laurence then sighs contentedly, basking in the warm aroma.

“Yes, Faithful was the best word for that miltank. She always produced such rich, creamy milk.”

The Rocket Executive lifts his finger. “You see friends, when a pokémon carries excessive amounts of fat then its produce increases in quality.

Tòxicana is soaked from head to stinger in his own honey, and fights back the tears in his eyes while against a wall—one splattered in thick, yellow liquid. The stinger of his abdomen is opened and fluid is oozing from it like a faucet. Beside him, Charity is also scowling, red faced while covering her breasts. The gardevoir is drenched in milk and gagged with a pillowcase.

“Eres una mierda.” Tòxicana says, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Tú eres el diablo.  You’re fucking pervisidad, fucking pervisidad!” He then looks down at his opened stinger. “I don’t want any of you rocket shitheads eating my stuff.”

Within the suite are five rocket grunts standing at attention—their hands are covered in milk and honey.

Laurence then kneels, and prods Tòxicana’s abdomen—causing the mega pokémon curse at him. “You my beauty,” He says, cupping the beedrill’s chin. “You’ll be locked away in a dark little room, a box where you’ll barely be able to stretch.”

“Get off me!” Tòxicana snaps, thrashing his head back and forth.

 Laurence chuckles. “You see my pet, honey that stagnates becomes very sweet. As you eat and grow I’ll increase the size of the room.”

He then smirks. “Just a tiny bit though.” Laurence adds, followed by stroking Tòxicana’s abdomen with his finger.” I don’t want you to move a muscle. Movement makes the honey less sweet.”

“You’re fucking loco!” Tòxicana says, tears trickling down his cheeks. “CHICO ESTÙPIDO! HELP! MASTER I NEED YOU!”

Laurence begins rubbing the engorged abdomen. “As limb muscles deteriorate from lack of use, your Adaptability will kick in.” The executive says, followed by a snicker. “Your body will put every ounce of effort into making honey. You’ll become an immobile beauty burdened with layers of corpulence.”

“Shut up! I don’t wanna hear anymore!” Tòxicana sobs.

Laurence stands up in a Shakespearean fashion. He holds his tea cup as if it were Hamlet’s skull.

“Your produce will be served to kings and queens, chancellors, and presidents of nations.” He continues, lifting his finger in the process. “All for a hefty price tag of course.”

“CIERRA LA PUTA BOCA!” Tòxicana cries, covering his face with his drills. “SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

Finally, the man looks down and smirks at Tòxicana. “But that’s not all my dear pet. Each morning at the crack of dawn, I’ll come by your cell and flavor my cup with your wares.”

“He’s gonna take everything from me!” Tòxicana thought. “Everything I have! He’s a parasite…a loco parasi—” The bee then freezes in horror.

“You’ll cry, beautifully,” Laurence continues. “Asking me for a little room to spread your wings or stretch your legs. And you know what I’ll say?”

“I’m a parasite too…” Tòxicana chokes, lowering his head in complete shame.


“I’m spoiled rotten and greedy.” Tòxicana says, crying like a child. “I throw tantrums whenever I don’t get my way, and Chico Estúpido puts up with it.”

He buries his face in his drills. “I’m a birthday present from his late mother, and he can rarely say no to me. I totally abuse that fact, sir. Like I totally do.”

“I deserve this…I deserve someone taking advantage of me.”

The bug pokémon then looks up at Laurence, tears streaming down his cheeks. “But New Master, Neuvo Maestro, can you like please take a picture of me and leave it in this room. Por Favor?”

Laurence frantically reaches into the breast pocket of his blazer. He pulls out a handkerchief and starts dabbing his sweaty forehead. 

While propped against the wall, Tòxicana has head lowered and eyes clamped shut. The bee has a rosy blush of shame is upon his cheeks. Genuine humiliation, that rarest type of shame you see after a person realizes their wickedness. No masochist hooker could fake off something like that in bed.

“Lo siento Cristobal…” Tòxicana whispers, covering his face with a drill. “I’m like really sorry…”

“Oh what shame! What humiliation! Laurence says, getting down on one knee. He tosses his tea cup aside and revels in the sight. “Someone get me a bloody camera. I can’t let this beautiful moment pass me by.”

A few minutes later…one pillowcase was removed.

Laurence smirks while looking at three fresh photographs. “One copy for my personal records, a backup copy for my personal records, and one for your dear old master.”

While against the wall, Tòxicana folds his arms in his lap and bows his head in submission. “Gracias, Neuvo Maestro.” The bee says, just like an obedient pet. “I totally thank you for your act of kindness.”


Tòxicana scowls, and turns to face the gardevoir. He puffs out his chest and moves his drill in a Z-formation. “Like Bitch-Chica I can’t handle you right now, girl. Like totally.  I’m tryin’ to be a little like the pet Chico Estúpido deserves. But you making things like muy difícil. So chica can you go like zip it or something.”

Charity snaps back. “Excusez-moi, peasant. But I do not ‘zip it’ just because some bitch with a fat ass says so. S'il vous plait, s'il vous plait, do not get me started monsieur because I will go all the way.”

Tòxicana huffs, and then rubs his chest as if he had globe-sized breasts. “Doctor Smith, Doctor Smith, yo quiero la poképuffs.” He says. “I totally want to pig out on them while you grope my boobs.”

 Tòxicana then squashes the invisible orbs together. “I like suck at being a nurse, but since my tits are muy gordo the doctors keep me around.”

“Oh Monsieur Christophe.”  Charity says, slapping a hand on her backside. “Me amour, I touch my stinger at night just thinking about you. Please flip the lid and fuck me like the whiny bitch I am, merci beaucoup.”

The members of team rocket continue to stand back, watching in confusion. What the hell were these bitches arguing about?

Tòxicana growls while putting his hands on his hips. “Hey Bitch-Chica you know why you remind me of a doorknob? It’s cause everybody’s touched you. Like totally.”

Charity raises her fist. “At least I have a career and not some pet.”

Laurence scratches his scalp in bewilderment. “Now Ladies can we—”

Tòxicana and Charity turn their heads to him. “STAY THE FUCK OUTTA THIS.” They say in unison.

Charity then turns her attention back to Tòxicana. “Say one more word, just one more, Monsieur.” The gardevoir replies, jabbing his chest. “And I’ll Hyper Voice you back to last—”

Tòxicana spits in her face. “Bring it.”


Charity takes a mighty breath, arches her back, and then lunges her head forward.

“VA FAIRE FOUTRE! GO FUCK YOURSELF!” She roars, causing the entire room to wildly shake.

Laurence and the rocket grunts are knocked to the floor. They groan and writhe while covering their ears. Tòxicana flies backwards and slams into a wall. However, the pet recovers. He lands back on the ground. Tòxicana then takes a mighty breath, arches his back, and then lunges his head forward.

“VA FAIRE FOUTRE!” he roars in perfect French.

Charity is sent flying from a Mimic attack—the one move every Poképet knows. She smashes against the wall on the other side of the room. After learning Hyper Voice, Tòxicana inhales like a hurricane wind.

“CHICO ESTÙPIDO!” the beedrill screams, causing the entire suite rumble and quake. “GET YOUR ASS IN HERE BEFORE I KILL THIS BITCH.”

Charity yells back, ‘I’M NOT A BITCH!”

Laurence and his grunts shout for mercy while wallowing on the carpet. The noise was so loud; none of them could muster the strength to throw a pokéball. The Hyper Voice War continues, screams in Spanish and French create a cacophony of bitchiness. Glass shatters, furniture breaks, and chunks of the ceiling fall from above.  The power goes out. But then Christopher, his new Greninja, and the police force swarm in—covering their ears of course.

Two days later…

Christopher cracks a small smile as he stares at the ceiling fan of his bedroom. Seconds later, his pillow is fluffed up and a heavy blanket is pulled to his throat.  “Ok, Tòxicana.” He says, coughing a bit. “Tell me what you want. I’ll buy it tommorro—”

“I don’t want any gifts, vato.” Tòxicana huffs, examining his drill as if he just got his nails done. The bee then uses his normal hand and pulls off the grey cone, revealing five womanly digits. “Like, all I want is for my Hero Estúpido to get some rest. You got banged up really bad during the Rocket Heist.”

After tossing the drill over his shoulder, Tòxicana dusts off the front of his nurse’s outfit with his fingers. A few seconds later, he rests his hands on a pair of voluptuous hips. The bee smirks a little while looking down at Christopher.  “Hey loco, want me to make you some tea with my honey?”

“Ok, something’s gotten into you.” Christopher says, followed by a yawn. He then rolls over and closes his eyes. “But I’ll let it go on for one more day. Sure Tòxicana, I’ll take a cup.”

“Before I totally forget. I have a present for you, my Hero Estúpido.” Tòxicana says, chuckling as he reaches into the breast pocket of his apron.

The Mega Beedrill then hands Christopher a photo of himself—smiling next to an oak tree.

“Like chico, I totally got my antennae done, and my wings waxed, and like, oh my god I was at the beauty parlor all day while you were in the hospital.”

Christopher takes the photo and cracks another smile. “Well I’ll be damned. Is this for my insect scrapbook? You look grea—”

Tòxicana kisses his owner on the cheek.  “Gracias mi maestro, for everything.”

Christopher then rubs his cheek, and turns a deep shade of pink. “D-Don’t mention it.”

Tòxicana then turns around from the bed and starts walking towards the door. However, Christopher reaches out his hand. “Hey, do you mind putting a little milk in the tea?”

The beedrill whips around and scowls, resting his hands on his titanic hips. “You want fucking milk in your tea?” He asks. “Then get up outta bed and put in there yourself, Chico Estúpido. I ain’t mixing my honey with that shit.”

Which character would you play as first in Zombie Mode Zer0
3 deviants said Sydney McGuire
2 deviants said Red Robot
2 deviants said Drake Towers
1 deviant said Lafayette Ashenfield
Mature Content Filter is On
(Contains: sexual themes, violence/gore, strong language and ideologically sensitive material)

Red Robot looks up at a chalk outline of a MP40 scribbled on the rusted wall. The drawing was located beside a door—a steel entrance labeled Taffy Room—that was splattered in blood. Red’s no bigger than an infant, and the machine has a spherical head with cricket antennae.

The robot rubs his chin. “Gee willikers, this gun looks really expensive.”  He says, then pointing at it with a stubby arm. “I don’t really wanna to spend 1200 points now. There are more doors in the Candy Factory I need to open.”

Behind Red, a horde of men dressed in orange jumpsuits run towards him. Their decayed skin is the color of rust, and the creatures have red eyes.  They lunge their hands forward, screaming like rabid animals as they draw closer.

“I think I’ll get it though. Never hurts to have a good SMG.” Red says. He jumps into the air and hi-fives the drawing. In a flash of light, the SMG appears holstered on his back. He lands on the purple floor and whips around.

“ EAT LEAD! YOU SONS OF BITCHES.” Red says, firing a stream of bullets into the torsos of the factory workers.

The monsters roar in agony as metal shreds their flesh. But they drop to the floor with a thud, sprawled out in a pool of blood.

The main hall of Sunnyvale Candy Factory is a purple room the size of a football field. In the center is a statue of the beautiful Anya Kuznetsov, and on each of the walls are a few doors that led to other parts of the factory. Since the power is out, the area is blanketed by darkness.

While Red sprints to the statue, the floor beneath him starts to quake. A cheerful jingle echoes through the chamber from an intercom, and the melody has a Russian flavor to it.

“Kuznetsov Candy! Kuznetsov Candy! The Best Candy the World and it tastes so Dandy!”

A feminine roar bellows throughout the nexus, it sounds like a tortured woman with a slightly deep voice. The phrase “Feed!” reverberates throughout the air.

“Darn it! She’s hungry!” Red says, looking over his shoulder.

Behind him is a giantess with lime green skin and blood colored eyes. The Devotchka has a mop of dark hair, and thick bangs mask her forehead. The beauty scowls, resting her claws upon hips that could barely squeeze through double wide doors.  A wrecking ball of green belly flab is hanging over the belt of her trousers. That gut of hers could crush a zombie if the beast dropped her belly on one.

The Devotchka roars at the ceiling while trudging across the hall. Her colossal thighs—wide and thick like tree trunks—rub together as she moves. The twin moons of blubber crafting her ass wobble and quake with each step. Seconds later, The Devotchka stops. She clamps her eyelids shut and clenches both fists. “FEED!” She screams, thrusting her torso forward. “FEED ME!” Her titanic breasts jiggle as she roars.

A sonicboom surges across the room and the shockwave sends Red flying into a wall. The robot lands beside a lever switch. After recovering, Red sighs while cranking the device. The phrase “- 3000 Points” appears in crimson above his head.

At that instant, candy begins raining from the ceiling above The Devotchka. Undead factory workers sprint out of nearby doors and ignore her while charging towards Red. The Devotchka roars, slamming her gargantuan rear onto the steel floor. Zombies stumble and fall as the room shakes. The woman then leans over, and begins shoving candy in her mouth like a pig. Her cheeks bulge as she crams more chocolate between her lips.

The Devotchka’s gut surges forward with fresh flab. Her massive forearms bulk from extra fat, and her titanic rear spreads wider as her two boulders of blubber grow.

“By switching to Xervian technology I cut the energy costs of my production plant by 300%. Now, do you know what that means Siegfried? It means that Kuznetsov Candy can produce three times as fast and three times as much as our competitors.” – Anya Kuznetsov.

Red dashes into a room with giant vats of hot chocolate. He’s being chased by a horde of factory workers, and the robot is hugging a cymbal monkey. “I’m sorry, Mr. Monkey.” He says. “But I don’t want to die!” He then tosses the bomb over his shoulder and it lands on the floor behind him.

The zombies surround Cymbal Monkey, and he starts banging his cymbals. The bomb looks up at the undead and growls at them.  “I CAN TAKE ALL YOU MOTHA FUC—” He then explodes in a giant radius, incinerating the factory workers.  

Red then runs into a gold candy bar floating in front of him. “Finally! Things can slow down for a sec!”

“Muahaha!” says a demonic voice. “Zombies are now Double Stuffed! Gotta burn off those calories folks!”

Chasing after our runt is a zombie lass clothed in factory garb. Like The Devotchka, she has green skin, but sports yellow eyes. All of sudden, her taut tummy bulges forth into a massive pot belly. The zombie’s hips spread and her firm rear evolves into two boulders of flab. The woman’s bust becomes encumbered with two globes of fat, and then she slows down to a jog, then to bending over while catching her breath.

“RUAWARAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” The zombie yells, her face pudgy and soaked with sweat.

Red dashes up a set of metallic stairs to the bridge above. He mows down the fattened zombies ahead with his MP40. “FOR THE MONKEY!” He squeaks, as bullets fly and blood splatters through the air. Undead fall over the railing and crash onto the ground with a thud, some get dunked into the chocolate vats below.  When his gun runs out of ammo, Red tosses it over his shoulder and lifts his right hand—which transforms into a buster cannon.

Recharged.” He says, as a torrent of flame surges from the weapon.

“Apparently, the owner of this chocolate factory had been experimenting with technology from alien gods. So is it really that surprising that when Kuznetsov screwed up, our universes meshed together and the dead rose?” - Drake Towers.

While inside a laboratory, a man clothed in a white cowl and stealth suit looks down at a blueprint on the table. Drake Towers rubs his chin, and then runs his finger along the schematic of an Xervian Galactic Transporter.

“And they said taking a dead language was a waste of time.” Drake says, mouth curling into a smirk. The hero then taps his finger on a diagram of a nuclear power core. “Now that will be the challenge, the rest of this is just assembling the junk in here.”

Drake hears a mob screaming like rabid animals behind him. He whips around, unholstering a shotgun slung on his back. Four factory workers are charging at him with arms lunged forward. Towers sprints ahead, pumps his gun, and blasts the undead in their torsos.  When the crowd falls to the ground, he shoots each one in the head for safe measure.

“Nothing personal, chaps. Believe me, I’d rather arrest than kill.”

All of a sudden, Drake taps his headset. “Yes, Specialist McGuire?”

“Alright handsome, what’s ya opinion’ on the giant bitch stompin’ round upstairs?” asks a lass with a Brooklyn accent, just like a steel worker. “Givin’ me a headache, you?”

“I’d be helping Red if she were gone.” Drake says. “But my gear can’t filter down her screams as much as his Novarian tech can.”

Towers then hears a chuckle. “Ok stud, listen to me for a sec. Now I ain’t the smartest chick in the world but I got a gut. OK? A nice big keg covering the abs I ain’t ever gonna see again. Now since I got a belly and The Devotchka got a belly I sorta know how she thinks. You get me?”

“Yes, Specialist.”

More screams fill the air, and Drake whips around. He runs to the table in the center of the lab and the snatches the Xervian schematic. “Sorry Specialist, a couple of blokes are stormin’ down the hall.” Drake says, followed by unholstering the assault rifle on his back. Six undead barrel through the entrance ahead, he guns them down in six shots—each of their heads explode systematically.

“All clear.” Drake says, walking near the door with his rifle raised.

“Sounds like you’re havin’ fun.”

“I wouldn’t call it fun, Specialist.”

Drake enters the dark corridor and makes a right. He swaps to a silenced pistol and moves down the ruined hallway—like a Spec Operative in enemy territory.

“Now when I get really hungry I don’t care what goes in my mouth as long as the shit tastes good.” Specialist McGuire says. “So I’m thinking we get my runt to feed that banshee some chocolate covered bombs.”

Towers peeks his head from behind a corner. He spots a hulk of a zombie in the distance. “I like where you’re going with this, Specialist.” He whispers. “But we can’t feed her any bomb. Most explosives become unstable in extreme temperature changes. There’s a rapid cooling process to harden chocolate which I’m worried about.”

“Ok Slim, what are we ‘sposed to do?” Sydney asks.

“Finding C4 is our best bet, Specialist McGuire.” Drake says. “The explosive plastic on the inside is soft like chewing gum yet very sturdy. Also we can manually detonate it.”

Drake peeks out from cover, and observes the goliath zombie in front of a door. Drake’s world turns blue and time seems to slow down as he analyzes the trajectory for a critical headshot.

“Well I’m near one of them Mystery Boxes.”  Sydney replies. “I’ll look for some C4 and get back to ya, bucko.”

Eh? Me? Well Mr. Narrator, I’m just ya average Juggernaut. You need something smashed? I smash it. Tanks, walls, Anti-Air guns, I’ll bring’em all down. Just need a full stomach…literally.” Sydney McGuire. 

Sydney—a lass with pale skin and a shaggy mop of red hair— scowls while resting her hands upon hips that could barely squeeze through a doorway. Her left eye twitches, she glares at the wrecking ball of belly flab hanging a few over the belt of her camo pants. Her gut couldn’t be restricted by a tape measure, and would snap any band that tried. Specialist McGuire is clothed in a grimy tank top, stained with blood and sweat.

“Fuckin’ bullshit! I just ate for crying out loud.” The woman says, throttling the fat on her belly. McGuire has massive forearms—bulked up with a truckload of flab. There’s muscle beneath the blubber, but not a trace can be seen.

Sydney is standing in the middle a corridor with rusted floors and walls. Behind her is an OlympusX3Z—a futuristic Warhammer taller than her body. The weapon could adjust its size or weight whenever a Juggernaut became weak with hunger.

Sydney smacks her palm against her forehead and grunts in frustration. She debates whether to keep searching for C4 or taking a snack detour. “No, I’m fucking useless in a fight without boosts from the Jugg Gene.” She says, clenching her opposite hand. “Can’t even hit a fucktard from close range with a shotgun…”

Sydney reaches back and grabs the staff of her warhammer, it shrinks to the size of a key and then she shoves it in her pocket. McGuire grunts in annoyance while unholstering a sawed-off shotgun from her hip. It had a pellet spread as wide as her gargantuan ass, so the thing was guaranteed to hit something at close range.

The woman then trudges forward down the hall. Her enormous thighs—wide and thick slabs of meat—rub together with each step.  From behind, the twin boulders of blubber crafting her ass wobble and shake in sync. Sydney glares down the corridor with her shotgun raised.

“I hate being a fucking weakling,” she says, followed by a growl.

It wasn’t that McGuire hated being fat. Sydney loathed being fat in battle without a full stomach. Right now, the lass was only as strong as an average man, and had the endurance of a slob that never exercised in his life.

“Holy Macaroni, I could hear your tummy growling from upstairs!” says a peppy voice from behind. “You need a snack Sydney?”

Specialist McGuire cracks a big smirk while holstering her firearm. “Now there’s my lil’ hero.” The lass says, followed by turning around.

Floating in front of her is Red holding a jumbo chocolate bar. “I’ve scanned this, OK?”  The robot says—followed by his long cricket antennae sparking up. He then offers it to Sydney and she picks it up.  “There’s no radiation or anything in—.”

The back of Red’s skull is whiplashed by a bulky arm and his face is slammed into a pair of globe sized breasts. His cheek is squashed against meat covered in sweaty, grimy fabric. The robot’s eyes turn black—and a picture of a skunk appears in them. His antennae droop like wilting flowers. “Gee Willikers it’s so umm…” He says, muffled by Sydney’s tits.

While still smothering Red against her bosom, Sydney looks down and chomps into her chocolate bar. “Eh? What was that, sweetheart? Didn’t hear ya.”

“Thanks for the hug…”

Sydney cracks a flirty smirk, and choke holds her friend even tighter with her left arm—sort of like a bodybuilder. “Aww don’t mention it, sugarpot.” She says. “I was thinkin’ some boobage would be a good reward. Cuz I know ya like tits and I got some bazookas up here.”   

Umm I like boobs a lot, but I don’t really like being squashed against them. Oh Gee Golly Gosh!  I need to say something relevant, Mr. Narrator? Umm…Ashenfield is sorta like a spider and has a really big butt. He’s my best friend too! ” – Red Robot.
Ashenfield—a beauty with chalk colored skin and dark eyes—grunts while brushing away the bangs masking his brow. His gothic hair is rich, thick with curls, and the color of oil. His locks are styled in a bob.

The boy scowls at the candy bar in his hands, “You’re still hungry.” He says, unwrapping the silver foil. “You can eat a bit more chocolate. A full stomach is required for Shadow Spider.”

A wrecking ball of belly flab—almost as large as McGuire’s—is hanging over the belt of his dark, ceremonial robe. Ashenfield’s gut wobbles a little as he breaks off a piece of candy. He really should be drinking blood, sugar isn’t filling at all.

The occultist looks at the chocolate in his fingertips. “I deserve another treat anyway.” He says, blushing a bit in denial. “These wretched beasts have been running me ragged.” Ashenfield pops the chocolate into his mouth.
He then swoons—like Juliet after seeing Romeo for the first time—all while standing in the middle of a room filled with conveyor belts of chocolate. Ashenfield then cups his cheeks while chewing the candy. “Oui! Très fantastique! Oh goddess it’s so good!” The glutton fawns.

Ashenfield then looks down and glares at the candy bar. He growls while tossing it aside, “No more.” He says. “Every bite of sugar goes south, every bloody bite. A moment on my lips forever on my—”

The boy in the clingy robe rests his hands upon massive hips—hips that gave him a pear shape only a fertility goddess could boast. Doors were Ashenfield’s worst enemy; he hated squeezing and wedging through them as his disciples watched his rump jiggle. His titanic thighs were pillars of meat that rubbed together with every step. From behind, two moons of blubber crafted Ashenfield’s rear. Like a spider, his heaviest bulk was kept in the derriere, and the boy held onto nearly every calorie that passed through his lips.

Ashenfield looks over his shoulder, scowling as he jiggles the boulder of fat called his right ass cheek, “Shit, I can feel that bit of chocolate already.” He says. “Stupid runt, these cravings are your fault.”

Suddenly, a Red Robot wearing a halo poofs onto Ashenfield’s right shoulder. The machine then clasps his hands together. “Ashenfield, if you want to be more than friends with Red, why don’t you just tell him? Stress eating won’t solve anything. ” The angel says, followed by lifting a finger.

Ashenfield turns his head and growls at the deity. “Who on earth are you?”

“I’m your conscious.”

The beauty then scoffs, brushing the angel off his shoulder. “Then you should know why I can’t ask.”

“Ashenfield, you know Red likes you for you.” The angel says, hovering beside him. Just because he has friends that lack any ounce of modesty, doesn’t mean he doesn’t like your conservative style. The shy, modest spider, is his favorite. ”

A Red Robot with devil horns then poofs onto Ashenfield’s right shoulder. “Red likes ‘em fat, and he likes ‘em slutty.” He says, leaning close to the trap’s ear. “If you ate a little more chocolate, that robe would become rather tight around the back wouldn’t it? You’re wearing those silk panties, right?

Ashenfield scowls, his cheeks turning red as roses. “If you must know cretin, then perhaps.”

”Doesn’t a naughty little spider want to show off his talent with a needle and thread?” Devil Red asks, stroking Ashenfield’s cheek. “Just tear the robe until it barely covers your bum. I swear you’ll catch him drooling after he sees that slutty little web you spun down there. You’ll then get the confidence to ask him.”

Angel Red then floats in front of Ashenfield. He glares while resting his hands on his hips. “No, you’ll just make things awkward. Don’t try and act like someone you’re not, Ashenfield. Also, why are you sounding evil again? You changed remember?”
Devil Red pushes the angel aside and holds a chocolate bar in front of the boy’s face. “Just pack on twenty pounds to that fat bum, and you’ll have him caught in your web.”

Angel Red then shoves the Devil aside. “Don’t listen to that idiot, if you eat that much sugar you’ll crash! There are zombies still!”

Devil regains center stage. “Kid, oh my god just think with your butt. Eat sugar like a spider then watch it grow bigger and wider. Use your ass to your advantage ‘cause there are none that are finer. Trap the cricket in your web, just like back in the day. Then laugh at all the other bitches when he’s happily—“

Ashenfield snatches the chocolate from Devil Red and unwraps the treat. With glowing eyes and a grin he greedily chomps into the bar. Cheeks bulging, the trap looks over his shoulder and snickers. “I’ll eat like a spider, and make my worthless junk a little bigger and wider.” Ashenfield then faces forward, smirking as he places his hands on his hips. Eight giant spider legs of shadow then surge from his spine.

 “My heart is different than back in the day, I'll weave my seduction extra sticky so he can’t fly away! Muhahaha!”

So I either have to provide backstory or tell a little bit about myself? I suppose I’ll do the latter. I’m the priest of a following that worships a giant spider. My best friend is a lovable idiot, and can’t pronounce my first name." - Lafayette Ashenfield,

Zombie Mode Zer0: The Characters (Fem WG/Trap WG)
An Introduction of the Characters of Coke Zer0's Zombie Mode. ^__^
The setting is a Candy Factory where the dead have risen, and the first thing our heroes try to do (Well 3 of them anyway) is carry out a plan to destroy this annoying monster called The Devotchka (who screams really loudly)

Special Skills: Each of the heroes have their special skills (sort of) introduced.

Red Robot: Fire Abilities (Novarian Fire to be more specific)
Drake Towers: Bullet Time
Sydney McGuire: Juggernaut Strength
Ashenfield: Shadow Spider

Ashenfield and Sydney need to have nice full stomachs in order to use their powers though.
 Sydney is an army girl and Ashenfield is an occult trap, they'll both be fattening up.
The Devotchka: A very fat, undead giantess, that screams super loudly

Me - Red Robot, Sydney McGuire, Ashenfield

@:iconaerial-rave: - Drake Towers

If this were an a

Agent Reader, I need your help in acquiring pics for my stories!

Like my writing? Have a dollar to spare? Consider helping me out a bit lol. To donate just click the button between Rotom-Oven and Rotom-Refrigerator...two pokémon that like fatties.



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evilyoda2 Featured By Owner 4 days ago
My plans draw nearer to completion the time is nearly at hand.


COKE-ZER0 Featured By Owner 4 days ago  Hobbyist Writer
evilyoda2 Featured By Owner 3 days ago
Mayday Mayday the Plan is sinking! Oh god it headed for the atlantean orphanage!


Slash-Pseudo Featured By Owner Oct 22, 2014  Hobbyist Artist
Not a fan of Huge Hair and Boobs eh? Not sure if we can still be friends Coke...
Aerial-Rave Featured By Owner Oct 21, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Saw this, thought of you:…
COKE-ZER0 Featured By Owner Oct 21, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Forcedlactationlover Featured By Owner Oct 18, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Lilith, Demetrios, and I thank for the 'daemonic' Fave. she will slowly eat 5 kilos of extras in your honour. Thanks for everything! +fav  
Slash-Pseudo Featured By Owner Sep 15, 2014  Hobbyist Artist

Found a pic of you...
Slash-Pseudo Featured By Owner Aug 22, 2014  Hobbyist Artist about those fatties?
RubenDaol21 Featured By Owner Aug 18, 2014
Hi there, are you accepting requests, I like reading weight gain fanfiction by the way.
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